Life Less Ordinary
by temporary relief
Summary: When the line between justice and revenge is blurred, ethics and morals are useless, and everything becomes an eye for an eye...
1. The Taylors

**Disclaimer: Don't own them or really the idea :/**

**Notes: Well, all the characters are here. The thing is that Lindsay is 'dead' in this. She's still around in a hallucination/mentor way to Danny. If that's not your thing, then this fic isn't for you. It's my intention to go into depth about characters and human nature. This should be Mac centric. Also the first chapter just takes you into it all. Like always, enjoy.**

**Thanks to lily moonlight for helping and California-Italian for putting up with my endless rants about this story. Also she has been one of the greatest helps to me when I was coming up with the plot for this. **

**The title is from the _Carbon Leaf_ song _Life Less Ordinary_. **

**Life Less Ordinary**

**The Taylors**

He sat down wearily in the seat behind his desk, leaning back in the swivel chair. He watched Stella Bonasera walk down the hallway towards him. Taking a sip of coffee, he braced himself for whatever she was about to tell him. Something about what he did was stupid and foolish and that he was going to lose the case because the evidence would not stand up in court. He _hadn't_ meant to cause any disturbance in the collecting of evidence, but something had happened.

He rubbed his eyes. Everything seemed out of focus. Like a camera lens without any point to look at. Her image smeared in his eyes as she came in. Then everything went black.

"Mac." He saw nothing, and her voice faded into the distance. "Mac! Maaac!"

……………………………………..

The dazzling light bounced off the fluorescent walls and onto him and his companion. He traced his hand down her arm before opening his eyes. His heart started beating faster, and his breathing deepened. _No! This can't be happening. Not again. I can't lose her again._ He got up quickly without disturbing her. It was not that he wanted to move. If anything, he could barely get up. Leaving her was not an option. She was not going to leave him either. Not if he had anything to say about it.

He stood up and looked around the room in shock. If it was not enough that his wife who he thought had been dead was actually sleeping next to him, he just suddenly thought that this room reminded him of some bad 70s' movie. He remembered someone talking about this show about the seventies. But he couldn't place the name of it.

Turning on the light of their bathroom, Mac turned to look in the mirror. Normally, Mac Taylor was not one to be vain and concerned with appearances, but then again he was also one that kept himself trim. Yet here he stood with several days of scruff standing on his chin. Looking hastily for his razor, it was to his utter dismay that there was no razor.

_Okay, I'm an NYPD detective. Whatever is happening is obviously a dream._ He splashed his face with water, hoping that this would clear away this sick trick his mind played on him. That when he opened his eyes everything would be back to normal. The apartment would be his. Claire could not be there. It was just not possible. Not logical. Therefore he had to conclude that this was, in fact, a dream.

It was not that he regretted seeing his dead wife there, but she was alive, and he was confused. And he loved his wife, but he also had eight years to piece his life back together. He had spent those years, partially mourning her loss and then getting over it, trying to find someone who could even begin to fill the massive crevasse she left in him. Something that only one person had been able to fill. Stella Bonasera. But now everything changed. Unless, this was a dream. But something felt off.

Drying off his face, he watched his wife sleep peacefully. Should he go over there? If this was a dream and he was positive that it was, the moment he approached her he would wake up. So as long as he stood here in this dream, he could enjoy this moment of pure bliss.

Yet like all good things, this did not last. He watched her sit up, yawning and smoothing the folds of a shirt that read something about Chicago. She looked at him then at the clock. "Shouldn't you be getting ready?"

"What time is it?"

"Five, but you wanted to be there before seven so you could meet the team," she strained to remember the exact details of what he had said the night before. Of course, at five in the morning details were trivial compared to getting back to sleep.

Mac was about to say something about what team when he stopped himself. "Go to sleep, Claire. I'll wake you up before I go."

She waved him off as she crashed back into the pillow. He looked confused. He ran his hand through his hair as he debated what to do. He was sure this was a dream. It had to be. There was no other logical explanation. There couldn't be. Yet everything felt so _real_. Even in his worst dreams he always knew it wasn't real. He always seemed to know, but now, now he felt so lost. But maybe if he played along this dream would last instead of most dreams where he was left grasping for just a moment longer. Just a moment.

So he played along. He finished getting ready. He had no idea if it was 2001, 1987, or 1965. The only thing he knew is that he was not in 2009. He was somewhere else. _What an interesting dream…_

Interesting was to say the least. He looked at himself. He finally properly looked at himself. And then he saw. It wasn't just how many years he was back in time. He had aged backward, and he then pieced it together. He looked like he had two years after he had married Claire. Four years before she died. _Four years…_

He looked in his closet next because that was always the next part of the routine and the next part of this 'game'. He looked at his options, and was confused. This was the weirdest dream he had ever had. And his mind kept wandering back to his wife who shouldn't have been there. She was dead. She had left him. Alone. For eight years. Eight years. He had to focus on just waking up. The dream was just too painful.

Finally, ready (he did not really remember doing any of this as his mind was on other things) he decided to make himself and his wife breakfast. If this was really a dream, this wouldn't make much of a difference.

Half an hour later, Claire woke up to a strange smell- could it be food? That was weird. She walked into the kitchen. Mac was sitting at the table reading the newspaper. He looked utterly confused.

"You're supposed to read it," she told him plainly. He looked up.

"Oh, I know, it's just the date on here and the stories seem wrong," he sighed.

"Mac, I know it's hard to believe, but it's 1970 already." She watched as his face fell. "So how are those astronauts doing?"

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Mac knew at once that she was referring to the Apollo 13 mission to the moon. One that was called a successful failure.

"Well, I still want to read the article," she snatched the paper from his hands and flipped past the date which he caught from the corner of his eye. April 15th, 1970. He stood up quickly, his chair falling to the ground. He snapped out of his little daze and picked up the seat. She looked at him. "Surprised?"

His mind was racing through all the possible answers. "Umm… no… I was just wondering if you wanted breakfast. I did make it after all." He gave her a charming smile. Her face captured a picture perfect confused expression.

"Cause for concern, Claire?" He gave a chuckle, thinking all of this was crazy. Maybe he was high. It was the perfect time for it anyway. The world was completely messed up.

She rolled her eyes. "Mac, you never cook. And when you did, well, let's not dwell." He frowned. She smiled and tried a bite of what he had made. Studying it for a minute, she swallowed. "It's edible." She teased him. He smiled and realized how much he wished this was real. How much he wished he could sweep her up and…

"Well, thank you," he grinned at her. She looked at the clock and got up just as quickly as he had the minute before.

"Oh, you have to go," she frowned.

"I do?"

"You're the one who said that Captain Gerrard, I think, wanted to see you early."

"I did?" He was thoroughly confused by now and for good reason. He really had no idea what he was doing here. And this dream was strange. He had had many dreams where Claire was back. But none of them ever took place in 1970. And none of them ever included him going to work.

"Oh now you don't want to go to work. All it was in Chicago was work. So you know what? You're going to work," she smiled, and he saw the joy in her eyes. He had missed this in her. "And that's final."

He smiled, almost losing himself in the kiss she had now drawn him into. He relinquished a big sigh when she pushed him away. She smiled at this reaction. "Mac, go to work. I'll be here when you get back." What happened next surprised her. He frowned.

"Is that a promise?" His eyes had iced over, his expression unreadable. She thought he had been teasing her. He had occasionally been known to tease, but this, this was new.

"Yes, Mac. You're acting strange. Nervous?"

"I guess so," he sighed, looking back at her. Nervous could not even come close to what he was feeling. Confusion was a better word for his emotions. Even in the most hectic situation

"Isn't nervousness just fear of what is to come? And isn't fear something to confront?"

"Yes, I suppose. Now, I'm confused."

"Your words. Not mine," she smiled. "You should go. Confront your fear."

This brought a smile to his face. He remembered how Claire, Stella, and others would throw back his own words. Somehow it always brought a sense of peace to him. Something he would need in this chaotic dream.

"Now get going," she shooed him out. He reluctantly took an apartment key from where it lay on the table and ambled along outside. The precinct, being a few miles away, gave him ample amount of time to think.

Everything seemed so real. When he walked, he could feel the hot pavement under his feet. Even with the sun barely risen it was a blazing April morning. The strange weather for spring, however, remained the least of his worries. The sun beat down on the black shirt he was wearing as he moved down the street.

Now would have been an excellent time for him to turn back. Run home. Back to Claire. But something kept him moving. This sneaking suspicion that this was, in fact, as real as the day around him crept into his mind, not leaving even when he focused on what lay ahead of him. Work.

Work was his sanctuary after Claire had died. And now with her alive, would this dream ever end? If this wasn't a dream, then would everything be like it was before she died? She had already mentioned how everything was about work. Would it be now?

He took a deep breath and walked into the precinct. It looked to be emptying out as the night shift rolled over into the day shift. His steps slowed as he approached a dark wooden door that had a nameplate reading 'Captain Gerrard'.

He turned the crisp chrome handle and walked in.

**A/N: Okay, I've done my research on the seventies as I wasn't alive in it, but if you have comments I'd love to know what they are. Also I'd love to know your thoughts. Please review. Have a great day! XD**


	2. Logic, Mr Spock

**Disclaimer: Don't own them. Wish I did. **

**Notes: Just so you know, I have done my research on fashions and sayings. And watched tons of episodes of **_**That '70s **_**Show ;) Well, Mac's first day in a seventies universe. How fun XD Like always, enjoy.**

**Thanks to CSIMiami17 for reading and checking the humor of some lines. Also thanks to California-Italian for putting up with all my rants. **

**Logic, Mr. Spock**

He moved easily through the precinct. It had not changed much in thirty nine years. And that was a sad fact. His meeting with Captain Gerrard had been uneventful to say the least. He was not complaining though. His briefing (if he could even call it that) consisted of an introduction and then the reception of his gun and badge.

He wandered into the break room which like the entire layout had not changed. It still contained the basics though these were dated. The place where a sleek silver refrigerator stood now held a forties style white round General Electric fridge. In the center was an unmistakable _Oreo_ magnet in two pieces. The first piece was a donut shaped ring that said something about the cookie brand. The other piece was a circle with an Oreo printed on it. What distracted him from his observation of the room was a silent conversation that he seemed to get in the middle of. He sidestepped and watched as someone who looked incredibly like Don Flack used his hands to communicate with a female detective standing across the room.

The man (whom Mac had assumed was Flack) had long dark hair, sideburns, and a pair of aviator sunglasses still on. A light shirt with a plaid suit. A brown plaid suit. Something that would have belonged in the sixties.

Actually, the only slight resemblance to Don Flack this man had was the suit, but Mac was sure that it was in fact Flack that was standing there 'talking' to the woman. She soon responded using American Sign Language (that was the only conclusion he could come to about this language). Knowing that it was not Flack who was deaf, Mac was led to ask, "Is she-"

"Actually, she has a name, and she can hear. She's just practicing signing," the woman answered, reaching out her hand to shake his. She wore dark brown pants with a flair and a red paisley shirt. "Detective Higgins. How ya doin'? You must be the new guy." She chuckled when she saw what Flack signed.

"I was actually wondering if you could tell me who my partner is because I can't find the board this is on or if there is a board. I was rushed out of the Captain's office." The board he referred to was the list of shifts listed for the month.

She rolled her eyes and signed something to Flack, making him laugh and walk out of the room. "Yeah, you're Denton's replacement. Umm, good luck."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He did not want to talk any longer to her, but she did not answer his question.

"It means that Detective Bonasera does not want a new partner. Her old partner was fine enough. So whatever happens, don't blame me," she shoved past him into the bullpen.

He stood in the break room for a little while longer, smiling to himself._ So Stell's my partner. I guess this nightmare isn't so bad after all._ He walked into the bullpen with a sigh of relief. He watched the interaction of the team. Angell, Flack, and the new girl. He could not find Stella, Lindsay, or Danny.

"Hey, Higgins, I forgot to ask. Where's Danny?"

"Where the hell do you think he is, Flack?"

"Touchy much?" Mac watched as he made a face at her and wondered what was up with the team who he had always known to get along well with each other. Actually, they got on better than just well. They were practically inseparable, but now they could not look at each other. The tone he heard in their voices when they talked to each other was so tense and so hostile. He had to wonder what had happened to them.

"It's not like you said please. In fact, it's not like any guy here says please," Jessica, this time, spoke up with a harsh voice.

"It's not like we have to," Flack countered darkly. The two of them entered in a battle of looks. Both glares given were dangerous, daring the other to do more. Mac could not take any more of this. He took off his jacket and faced the two of them.

"You two need to cool down. Right now." They looked at him. His tone matched the both of theirs.

Detective Higgins looked at him and snorted with laughter. "Oi, Rookie, I forgot. The 40s called. They want their clothes back." Flack joined in laughing along with her. Jess stayed quiet.

"Yeah, you look like you stepped out of _Casablanca_. Halloween's in October, ya know?" Flack told him, having trouble breathing he was laughing so hard. He and Higgins high fived even though they were at each other's throats just a minute before. Jess rolled her eyes at her coworkers' behavior.

"Locker room's down over there. Second door on the left," she pointed. He nodded his head in thanks. Walking down there, he heard a whistle in his direction. He turned around, thoroughly annoyed with whoever had whistled in an obviously sarcastic way. That Detective Higgins was sitting on the desk with a huge grin on her face, giving him a wave. He turned around quickly and quickened his pace to the locker room. He was used to being the butt of some jokes. Jokes had no affect on his demeanor.

The locker rooms had historically been co-ed, and now he knew why. Jess, Stella, and that Higgins were the first female detectives in whatever world he was in. Dream or not, this bugged him. He looked in the bathroom mirror, seeing himself properly for really the first time. He did not remember getting dressed so that would explain why he looked as he did. It could have been worse. His shirt, black, was well fitted to say the least. Across his shoulders were two elastic white straps that clipped at his waistband. He took this time to put his badge and his holster on, which he realized he was still holding.

Going back to his locker, he realized that it was still open. He closed the door on the only content inside. His jacket.

Mac walked back into the bullpen with his head held high just as he always walked. The others, having gotten over having a new detective in the ranks, were at their respective desks going over a case. Flack was typing out some notes onto a type writer. Jessica was reading through something. Higgins was sketching something. She looked up.

"Oh, it's you again."

"You thought I'd leave?" he chuckled at the disappointment in her voice.

"I had hoped," she grinned. Her notebook glared at him. He looked at who she was drawing. Danny with a woman. He could not identify her.

"Who's in this?"

"My partner,_ Messer_, and then this woman. I don't know who she is." She spat Danny's name with anger and disgust.

"What'd he ever do to you?"

"It's compl-" she cut off midsentence and closed the notebook.

"It's what?"

"Nothing. Now, there's your partner over there. I'm going to watch as she chews you out. I'm going to _watch_ and _enjoy_," she got up and sat next to Flack and Angell. He frowned at her behavior. Then turned to look where the three of them were staring. A woman with dark curly hair entered, wearing brown pants that flared out at the bottom and a loose Indian blouse as he believed they were called. Stella.

He fought hard to suppress a smile as she walked up to him, eyes already blazing at him. He had to wonder what he had done wrong already.

"You!" she hissed. She looked him up and down, and he saw some of the fury in her eyes leave. "I don't really care what your name is, but as long as you keep your hands and thoughts to yourself, we'll be fine. Got it?" She looked over at the three others who had suddenly become extremely busy doing what they should have been doing instead of watching the two of them.

Mac was caught off guard. With her walking over there, the only thing he could manage to say was "I'm married." Maybe it was the way he said it. Maybe it was the baffled, confused boyish look on his face. There was a snort of laughter coming from the others, interrupting the silence that had come over the two of them.

"Yes, that may very well be true, but just let me lead, and I won't have a problem with you. Capiche?"

"Understood." He surprised himself at how much he sounded like a soldier.

She looked over to the others. "I'm going to go see if Cambell came up with the print." She looked at the others who didn't make eye contact with her. As soon as she left, the three looked at Mac and laughed.

"Wow, what a thing to say," Flack cackled like a crow. Angell and Higgins looked at each other and laughed even harder.

"I don't see what was wrong with what I said," Mac thought out loud. This somehow made everyone laugh harder as the laughter echoed in the room.

"Yeah, nothing was wrong with it. I mean, that was pretty… _logical,_ Mr. Spock," Higgins snorted with laugher again.

He frowned. This was a weird way for a dream to go. Especially since he knew practically nothing about _Star Trek_. He knew who the characters were. "I find your analogy quite _illogical_."

"Ha!" Her tone was quite sarcastic. "You know who I always had a thing for?"

"Please not Spock," he muttered under his breath.

"Everyone has a thing for Spock, Newbie. No, I liked Bones," she told him matter-of-factly. She reached around him for her notebook and smiled.

He refrained from rolling his eyes as he sat on the corner of a desk. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. He wasn't up to speed with this case. Not that it seemed like anyone would tell him anything. Actually, besides the one kind thing that Angell had said (and it wasn't exactly kind but it wasn't really rude), they had refrained from telling him anything important.

"Do you have an autopsy report?" he asked them as a whole, not expecting any answer. Flack momentarily looked up from his notes and looked at Higgins.

"Yeah, Higgins, when will we get that autopsy report?"

"When Shel- Doctor Hawkes is good and ready to give it to us, and by us, I mean me. You know, I don't appreciate you breathing down my neck about it!" she had obviously not meant to shout, but something was bugging her. Bugging all of them.

"Well, you had-"

"Hey, lay off of her!" Jess stood up. He glared.

"No one asked you!"

Mac rolled his eyes. _How juvenile._ He sighed. This was the strangest dream. What made it strange were the cameo appearances by Flack and Angell. He had of course had dreams with Stella in them. Not that he'd ever tell anyone that he dreamed of his partner. But he had. And now he was thinking about this, but he was married to Claire. This had to be the most complicated dream he had ever been in.

The bickering had stopped as soon as Stella walked back in.

"Good news, everyone." Those looking at her didn't seem to look too excited.

Flack seemed to brave it. "You got a result on that print?"

"Yeah, I think we set a record. Two weeks from the crime scene." She handed the file to Jessica. "Here, you pick him up. Take her." She pointed at Higgins.

"Cool," Jess muttered. Higgins placed her notebook precariously on her table and muttered something in Italian.

"Wait, you two. I have a question," Mac looked at Stella for a bit of confirmation before going ahead. It had always been a habit that they talked in their own 'silent language'. This time, however, he got a dagger of a look in return. "I have nothing to do. I wouldn't mind helping."

"No," Higgins spoke up once again. "It's a two person job, and we can handle it. Plus, I don't like you."

Angell thought for a moment. "Actually, we _do_ need that autopsy report."

"Take Danny when he comes in to get it," Stella added. "Flack and I will prep for interrogation, and we need that report soon."

"Sounds like a plan," Flack told everyone. Then the plan went into action. Jess and the other left with the file Stella had given them. Flack and Stella moved into interrogation. Meanwhile, Mac waited. He stood up, and the slight change in force caused the notebook to fall down. He bent down to pick it up and flipped it open. He vaguely looked at the picture of a small girl dancing. There was something about her that he recognized. She was the spitting image of Lindsay Monroe. He continued flipping through the sketchbook as he identified the little girl again. This time she was being held up obviously by her father.

Before he had time to study this picture anymore, the father of the illustrated child walked in the room. He wore dark brown pants that flared with a royal blue button down shirt that had seen better days. Mac recognized him at once even with his shaggy hair that covered most of his face.

Danny Messer.

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. I thought I'd post on the 4****th**** of July though. I won't get another chapter up for three to four weeks. I'm going to camp Tuesday. I hope you enjoyed this. Please review. I'd love to know what you think. Have a great day!**

**Also, Happy Birthday, America!!!**


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